Of Scientific Calculators, Sentiment, and the Law of Sines
by Traveler Of Many Lands
Summary: Molly Hooper's off on a new adventure: A quaint afternoon in a nice coffee shop with Sherlock Holmes...with the added bonuses of an overly flirtatious coffee-shop boy, an outburst whose consequences shock Molly to the core, and of course, the apprehending of a murderer. But it may be what happens later that surprises Molly the most...
1. Coffee and Murder Make a Good Team

_A/N: I'm a geometry student, I'm biased. So sue me._

* * *

"So...we're going to basically pretend to be university students, is that your idea of a friendly outing _?_ " Molly stood obstinately facing her genius ( _yet very clueless about human emotions, in an annoyingly funny/extremely frustrating way_ ) sort-of friend ( _or was colleague a better word?_ ) Sherlock Holmes, the edge of her kitchen counter pressing into her lower back. She'd crossed her arms over her pullover-clad chest, her green bag crossing over her torso and hanging at her right side. Toby the cat curled around her ankles, still slightly wary of the Belstaff-covered stranger in his territory.

"Um...yes," Sherlock said uncertainly, shuffling his feet awkwardly.

"And...we're going to be catching some criminal as well?"

"Yes," Sherlock admitted after a few seconds, biting his lip and looking at the ground first before turning his icy eyes towards Molly's chocolate brown eyes.

Molly sighed. She _did_ so want to spend a nice afternoon in a nice cafe with a few books and a consulting detective…

"Okay. Fine," Molly told him.

Sherlock instantly perked up, and Molly knew just as instantly that the unusual uncertainty and shyness she'd seen in him was all a mere ruse to bring her on board. "Bring some books, make yourself look like a student," he ordered in his usual authoritative tone.

Molly rolled her eyes, but smiled affectionately at how much he had to _try_ as she walked to her bookshelf.

* * *

"I've researched for a while," Sherlock whispered to Molly outside a sidewalk cafe. "There was a murder at the university nearby, remember? A student found dead in his dormitory, no sign of the killer?"

"Yes," Molly replied, adjusting her bag.

"I"ve been doing my research," Sherlock continued, "and I found the murderer. Completely clean record, no suspicious behavior. The former lab partner of the victim. He was questioned and then released. I also found that the best way I could find him was in that cafe." He pointed to the awning of the small restaurant, plastered with the fading lettering announcing its name as _Odds and Ends Coffee Shop._

"So, if the murderer comes in, I'll get Lestrade to be waiting at the door for when he leaves," Sherlock concluded. "In the meantime…"

"Watch and wait," Molly finished.

"Precisely," Sherlock replied. "That's why I asked you to bring some things with you."

"Oh," Molly realized. "That's actually a pretty good idea."

"Of course, Molly, why wouldn't it be?" he said, sounding pleased with himself.

 _Show-off. Bloody know-it-all._

"Ooh, Sherlock!" Molly gasped, dramatically placing a hand over her heart.

"What is it?!" he replied in a panic.

"Your head's grown about ten centimeters!" she replied, a touch of sarcasm coming through in her tone. "Really, Sherlock, a bit more bragging and your head will swell to twice its size."

"That's not _scientifically_ proven. And you talk like John," Sherlock sulked, throwing open the door for Molly.

"Grow up," she smirked and elbowed him gently before she walked in.

Molly's senses were immediately assaulted by the heady smell of roasting coffee beans and pastries. She breathed in deeply and slid into a booth. Sherlock slid into the seat across from her and immediately steepled his fingers. Sighing, Molly took off her bag and tucked it into the corner, only taking out her pocketbook. "I'm going to get something," she said across the table to the consulting detective. "Do you want anything? Coffee?"

"I take it black -"

"And two sugars," Molly finished off. "I know."

She headed to the counter and leaned over to the cashier, a gangly and pimple-encumbered man who looked like he could be in his mid-twenties. "What can I get for you today, miss?" he asked, and Molly resisted the urge to roll her eyes. He was _obviously_ forcing his voice deeper than its true pitch, in an attempt to imitate Molly's companion.

"I'll have one regular coffee, one green tea, and a chocolate muffin," she replied. The man in front of her ran a hand over his dirty-blonde hair, and Molly resisted that _oh-so-_ tempting urge to roll her eyes yet again.

"'Sthat all?" he asked her, voice cracking on the last word.

"Yes, that's all," Molly said exasperatedly and handed over the money needed.

"Coming _right_ up," the cashier replied in that forced-deep voice of his and Molly nodded a "thank-you" to him, stepping away from the counter.

"He fancied you," Sherlock pointed out as Molly slid back into the booth.

"Like _that_ wasn't obvious." Molly snorted contemptuously.

"He's already in a relationship, by the way," Sherlock said.

"And _why_ would I need to know that, Sherlock?" Molly asked in confusion. Sherlock shut his mouth with a snap, but Molly stifled a giggle at him to cover up her disbelief. _Wait, he's worried that other men are flirting with me?_

Choosing not to comment, she opened up her bag and lifted out an old, worn geometry textbook she'd found at a used-book sale and had always wanted to continue reading and solving. She also dumped a graphing notebook and a few pencils on the table next to it, and finally lifted out the pocket scientific calculator that had graced her pocket for years.

"Geometry? Really?" Sherlock asked.

"Oi, don't judge," Molly reproached. "I joined mathematical decathlons in uni, and we jumped around to a lot of different branches of math...but geometry was the one that really stuck with me."

"I never knew that," Sherlock said, un-steepling his fingers and trying to pull Molly's geometry book towards him.

"Hey!" Molly tugged it back. "I'm still working on Chapter Seven."

Sherlock pouted, but he relented and gave the book back to her. "Thank you," she said, shoving her earbuds in and playing a song from her playlist.

She worked in silence for a few minutes. The drinks and muffin slid onto the table suddenly, and Molly yanked out both earbuds and looked up to see the acne-ridden man standing by their table. "Here's your food, miss, sir," he said in his oddly deep voice and grinned to reveal teeth reined in with braces. Sherlock grabbed his coffee and dumped two spoonfuls of sugar into it instantly. Molly took her tea and muffin and placed them both by her geometry. The waiter didn't leave, he looked at Sherlock to make sure he wasn't watching and turned to Molly. "He doesn't look like a very good boyfriend to me," he said to her conspiratorially, taking a slip of paper out of his pocket. "If he's not treating you right, here's my number," he said, trying desperately to tip her a wink but instead blinking with both of his eyes. Molly had to resist the urge to roll her eyes _yet again._ He tried to hand the paper to Molly with a shaking hand.

It turned out Sherlock had quicker reflexes and better ears than Molly realized.

"Excuse me," Sherlock said loudly, snatching the paper out of the waiter's hand and tossing it away. Molly's eyes widened and she recoiled back a bit at the sudden action. "She's with me, in case you hadn't noticed. And you'd do better to stick with your girlfriend, as your current girlfriend seems to believe that the sun rises and sets on you."

Molly's head whipped around at the consulting detective. There was a sort of gleam in his eyes she'd never noticed before. "Um…" she started, but Sherlock cut across her with further observations about the waiter, who was now quivering in shock.

"You're obviously used to getting girlfriends quickly, using them for a few months, and then dropping them like stones. _How did I know_? You pulled out your number extremely smoothly and quickly-you've done it many times before. I can tell that you have multiple slips of paper here: your breast pocket puffs out just a little as there are more slips in there. Very trembling of the hand was all an act, because your gaze was steady as you stared down my companion, and you met her eyes, not showing any other signs of anxiousness. If it were real, you would've been nervous and not look at her at all, but since you've had practice… Anyhoo, the wink was so _badly_ done that it couldn't have _possibly_ been real. As for all of the relationships you've had before, you've probably forgotten all about them but the one you have currently is a clinger. Clear by the fact that there is a strong aroma of perfume-women's perfume-around you. She's probably the best you'll ever get with a reputation like that, so I recommend that you don't go around trying to catch some new girlfriends. Do tell your girl, however, that she needs to change the brand of the perfume. Your nose keeps on twitching, probably from that cloud that's surrounding your collar. Disgusting to you, lovely for her. Also-"

"Sherlock Holmes!" Molly angrily said through clenched teeth across the table, her face growing hotter. "That's enough!"

"God. Oh, dear God." The whole shop grew silent as the waiter staggered away. "You're...that…"

"Consulting detective," Sherlock rattled off. "Only one in the -"

"Sherlock, you've scared the wits out of the poor waiter enough, stop it _**now**_!" Molly hissed across the table at the clueless detective, the tips of her ears feeling like they were about to burst into flame.

The whole cafe was watching the scene unfold as the red-faced and obviously embarrassed waiter stumbled away.

"Sherlock, what've you done?!" Molly whispered over the table at Sherlock as the cafe burst into chatter again. "And Sherlock bloody Holmes, don't you dare adopt that look that just says _I've-just-done-you-a-great-service-so-thank-me-on-bended-knee_. You've just spouted out about a million deductions about how the poor waiter's a -"

"No-good jerk who takes advantage of people who actually _like_ him," Sherlock pointed out.

"That, Sherlock Holmes, is a perfect description of your attitude towards others." Molly clapped a hand over her mouth in horror as she realized that she'd said it out loud. "Oh, God, Sherlock, I'm sorry...I...I didn't -"

"You meant it, Molly." Molly looked into Sherlock's blue-green eyes and saw a bit of hurt clouding them. Part of her felt a little bit satisfied that she'd gotten to the consulting detective, but she couldn't help but feel slightly guilty that she'd hurt him. "Molly…" he asked, slightly unsure of himself. _Well, that's a first,_ Molly thought. "Do I...am I like...that? Tell me the truth, Molly. Am I like that to you?"

Molly didn't know how to answer for a few seconds, feeling like her heart had jumped into her throat.

"Please?" Sherlock asked, looking genuinely concerned.

"Yes," Molly finally burst out. "Yes, Sherlock. Exploiting my insecurities about my physical appearance to get an all-access pass to a body, making deductions about me in front of _everyone_ at the Christmas party, for God's sake, Sherlock, that was _humiliating._ You're always taking advantage of me, putting me down, stepping all over me-for God's sake, Sherlock, I'm not the doormat to 221B! I'm not a _get-a-body-for-free_ pass, I'm not just another stupid idiot that you can take your anger out on, I'm not a tool that you can use willingly, without caring what _I_ think! I'm a person, if you haven't realized by now. I might be Dr. Molly Hooper: head pathologist at St. Bartholomew's Hospital, but I'm also a person with _real_ feelings and emotions: not your personal robotic assistant who only exists to serve you and only you. I hate that about you, Sherlock, you know? I really hate how you can run me over with a steamroller and I…" She trailed off as she realized, with a pang, what she was about to reveal to the consulting detective. _I really hate how you can run me over with a steamroller and I will_ still _want you anyway._

Behind her, the door opened suddenly, the bell on the door jingling at the movement. Immediately, Sherlock took a look at who the door had admitted and sat up straight.

"What is it?" Molly asked.

Sherlock grabbed one of Molly's graphing paper pads and ripped a sheet off. Snatching up a pencil, he quickly scrawled something onto the paper and threw it across the table.

Molly picked it up and read it.

 _The murderer has just come into the shop. I'm texting Lestrade. Look like you're busy._

Her heart rate quickened even more, if that was possible, and she swallowed whatever she was going to say. Crumpling the note, she tossed it into her bag and continued solving problems from the textbook at a quick clip.

She was at the last part of Chapter Eight when sirens caused her to look behind at the door. Lestrade and a few officers had come to the coffee shop. As they burst in, all heads swiveled towards them. In a hurry, a tall student frantically tried to scrape his things together and make a run for the door. _The murderer,_ Molly guessed.

"Ah, Lestrade," Sherlock said, rising to his feet and greeting the DI with a small smile. "I see you've gotten my text."  
"This had better be important, Freak," one of the sergeants, a woman with curly dark hair, snapped at Sherlock.

"Donovan, lay off of him," Lestrade said quickly and she stepped back, not erasing the sneer from her face. "Hello, Dr. Hooper," he nodded at Molly. "So you've found him, Sherlock?"  
"That I have," Sherlock replied easily. "He's currently trying to sneak behind you, so I recommend you turn around and arrest him on charges of murdering his lab partner."

Lestrade and Donovan whipped around and instantly saw the murderer, frozen by the trash bins. He dropped his bag and put his hands up in defeat.

Ten minutes later, Sherlock and Molly stood on the pavement with Lestrade outside the coffee shop as Donovan opened the back of the squad car for the murderer, who slid in.

"Thanks very much, Sherlock," Lestrade told Sherlock gratefully.

"It was easy," he shrugged off.

"Say," Lestrade said suddenly. "You look like you have a lot on your mind at the moment. Anything wrong? How's John?"

Molly looked at the ground in guilt. _Probably what I said earlier._

"I'm fine," Sherlock assured Lestrade. "John is too. He couldn't come with me today, said it was something with the baby."

"Ah, I see," Lestrade replied. "Tell him I said hello."

"That I will," Sherlock told him. "It's just that, with me...someone just brought to my attention a wrong I am now quite desperate to right."

Molly jerked her head up suddenly, unnoticed by either of the two men. Hope spread through her chest.

"Well, it was nice to speak with you, Gavin," Sherlock closed out the conversation, extending a hand to Lestrade.

"Yeah. And it's Greg," Lestrade corrected.

Molly stifled a giggle. "It was nice to see you, Detective Inspector," she said, shaking hands with him.

"You too, Dr. Hooper," he replied cordially.

Sherlock and Molly were left alone on the pavement. They walked along the street, not entirely sure of where they were going, until they stopped at a bench.

"I was telling the truth there," Sherlock began.

"What do you mean?" Molly asked as she sat down, pulling out her geometry book again and flicking through the pages to the chapter she wanted.

"A wrong I must right…" The man trailed off and stared into the distance. "I have a lot of those. But the one I am most enthusiastic to solve lies with you."

Molly stopped mid-page. Slowly, her gaze traveled up until she met the consulting detective's eyes.

"Where is the direction of this?" Molly asked him in confusion. "Please, enlighten me," she continued with a vague wave of her hand.

"You told me I mistreated and took advantage of you in so many ways. You told me that I often use your insecurities to get what I want. And you told me that I commonly...what was it?... 'stepped all over you like the doormat to 221B.'"

"I-" Molly started, but she was easily and instantly cut off.

"You meant it, Molly," Sherlock said, looking rightfully ashamed of himself. "You really meant it. And...I'm sorry. Please...please, just...forgive me."

 _Wait._

 _What?!_

 _ **WHAT?!**_

 _Sherlock Holmes asking for forgiveness?!_

 _Oh, what a day you've gotten yourself into, Molly Hooper._

"Isn't that what you're supposed to say when you need to be forgiven?" A hint of panic greeted Molly as her ears finally quit ringing from the sheer shock of the whole thing. "Molly, please answer me! Isn't that what you're supposed to say?!"

"Yes, Sherlock," she replied quickly, "it is."

"So...will you? Forgive me, I mean?" The poor man was wringing his hands unconsciously, without realizing what he was doing.

Molly suddenly had a slightly malicious desire to say "no", to see his face crumple as hers had on various occasions. But she knew in her heart that that was something she _couldn't_ do. She couldn't torment a person like that. However, she _had_ been hurt by him many times...the Christmas party, all those times in the morgue, the Jim fiasco, being on drugs, the Janine incident, and most recently (and ongoing), the Moriarty-is-not-actually-dead problem. What she really needed was…

"Time," Molly whispered.

"Sorry?"

"Give me time to think," she replied, her voice stronger. Sherlock looked a little hurt at this, but he nodded energetically. "I can't say yes quite yet...I just need to really...look at myself more closely. You know?"

"All right," Sherlock said softly. Hesitantly, he stuck out a hand. Molly shook it uncertainly, feeling the smallest of smiles creep onto her face.

"And by the way," Sherlock added, "what concept were you on in your book?"

Molly put her book bag into her bag and stood up, adjusting the strap so that the bag lay on her shoulder more securely. "The Law of Sines. Why?"

"Just wondering," Sherlock said quietly, a new glint in his eye. "Shall we go, then?"


	2. Scientific Calculators and Apologies

_Two weeks later_

"It's almost Saturday," Molly groaned in relief, trudging along the hallway towards her flat. She'd had so much on her shoulders over the past few weeks, but the past week had truly been the bane of her existence. Or perhaps her career.

She always thought about that outburst she'd had in the coffee shop and what the consequences had been. An apologetic, ashamed Sherlock Holmes? It confused her and twisted her mind this way and that.

Sighing, she stopped in front of her door, fumbling in her pockets for her keys. Finally, she found the brass key that would remove the last hurdle before the weekend and relief. The key turned in the lock and Molly, out of old habit, pulled it out of the strangely shinier-than-usual lock and stashed the key back in her pocket before electing to throw the door open.

However, just as her hand reached for the handle to give it a quick twist, the door flew open for her.

"What in the actual-!" she yelped in surprise, coming face-to-face with a nicely wrapped black box held out in front of an extremely familiar aubergine-clad person.

If Molly was being filmed, she would have sworn that the camera would slowly follow her head as her gaze crept upwards.

"For the love of all that is good, Sherlock bloody Holmes," she muttered in annoyance. "How did you get in this room if the door is locked from the outside?"

"I had someone replace it while you were out," he replied haltingly, sounding a lot like Toby had gotten his tongue, just like the proverb of the cat getting one's tongue. "It's about time anyway, it was getting quite hard to pick. Age, probably. I just pretended I lived here. The person who fixed the lock gave me a rather stupefied look when I asked him to lock me in the room, but he did it anyway. Don't worry about the cost, I'll foot the bill."

"It's not that," Molly said quickly. "I agree, it _has_ been getting a little bit hard to turn the key in recent times." She quickly placed a placating grin on her face. "Thanks. It's just that…" she trailed off nervously, as she remembered her words to him a few weeks earlier. " _Give me time to think,"_ she had told him. _He must be looking for an answer now,_ she realized.

"It's just that _what?_ " Sherlock asked her, the both of them still standing awkwardly on either side of Molly's door.

"Let me in," she commanded. Sherlock stood aside and let her stalk inside, closing the door when she'd gotten all the way through. She quickly dumped her things on a chair and scooped up Toby, clutching him in her arms and flopping into the couch. Sherlock folded himself into one of her chairs, looking a lot like a chagrined five-year-old sitting in timeout. Molly quirked the smallest of smiles at this analogy.

"It's just that _what?_ " Sherlock asked Molly softly.

"Just that... _why_ did you come here in the first place when you could have approached me in the morgue? The element of surprise?" She shrugged. "Just... _why_? Did you want to make a statement?"

"Um. Kind of," Sherlock cleared his throat.

"All right, we're getting somewhere," Molly nodded. She was surprised that her heart beat wasn't going supersonic as she was staring across her coffee table at the Consulting Detective.

"And also...because...erm... _this_ ," Sherlock awkwardly thrust out the beautifully-wrapped black box at her.

Molly gently set Toby on the couch and reached her hands out for the box. "Do I open this now?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"That would be fantastic," Sherlock replied with a hint of sarcasm clouding his tone. She smiled and carefully opened the box.

Whatever was inside was wrapped in layers of tissue paper, and Molly carefully unwrapped the object in her lap, laying the box to the side. As she parted the folds of tissue paper, a black-covered object greeted her, covered by a rather large flower made of folded paper with a florist-wire stem bent and shaped in places to suggest leaves. She picked up the flower first. "Origami?" she asked Sherlock, slightly impressed. The most of his skill in handicrafting that she was aware of was the slightly obscure skill of napkin-folding for John's wedding.

"It took me five tries and about a kilometer of florist wire," Sherlock said gruffly, albeit containing a hint of pride. He didn't seem to be joking about the florist wire, but Molly grinned and tucked the flower behind her ear.

She turned next to the surprisingly hefty black object, turning it over. The black part of the object, she observed, was nothing more than a cover. Gently, she eased it off and gasped in delight.

A scientific graphing calculator greeted her.

"Where did you get this?" she asked Sherlock, giving him an elated smile. He seemed to be basking in the glow of her delight.

"The murderer was an American exchange student studying algebra. I nicked his calculator when the Yard was done combing through his things," Sherlock explained.

"The murderer? Oh, the coffee shop," she realized.

"He obviously wasn't much good with it," Sherlock continued. "The charging port was never used, signaling a lack of use. The charger itself is in the box, by the way. And yet, if you turn it on…"

Molly's index finger found the "ON" button and pressed it lightly. The screen blazed to life, showing a blank screen and a full battery.

"A _color_ calculator!" she gasped in astonishment. "Good Lord, Sherlock, do you know how much these cost?"

"A lot, probably," he shrugged off. "It can graph functions, too."

"Where?" Molly asked.

Sherlock shifted over to her right. The close proximity between the two of them made Molly's heart pound a little bit faster. "Right here," he said, pressing a few buttons on the calculator.

The familiar coordinate plane showed up on the screen, except it wasn't plain white like Molly thought it would be. Instead, a picture of her from a few months before, laughing happily at the camera, holding John's baby girl with a slightly grumpy Sherlock behind her- _he always wanted to be the only person other than her parents to hold Baby Watson,_ Molly giggled mentally-blazed across the screen. The graph had been customized in a way that there would be no gridding covering the image.

"Oh," she breathed.

"I found the manual online, went through the steps, and eventually downloaded the image onto the calculator," Sherlock said proudly. "John was a bit confused as to why I asked for that specific picture, but he texted it to me anyway."

Although Sherlock had finished off his thought, Molly had a feeling that he had something more to say. She kept her mouth shut, and sure enough, Sherlock took a deep, deep breath and continued.

"So." It was one word, yes, but it held _so_ much more meaning than a whole speech could deliver. Within that word, she heard that he was ready to tear down some more of his emotional walls.

Molly saw a true person behind the high-functioning-sociopath façade that Sherlock hid behind. She saw a man who was real.

It was beautiful.

 _Dear God, this is so much better than anything I could have dreamed of._

"So. I trust…" He took another deep breath, as if his lungs yearned to contain more air than they had already taken in. "I trust that you have had...enough... _time_ to think about my plea for...forgiveness."

"Yes, I have," Molly replied calmly, setting the calculator onto her lap and folding her hands to keep them from shaking. Her heart rate increased a tad more as Sherlock shifted himself next to her so that he was looking at her. Molly looked into his sharp eyes and subconsciously knew what he was going to ask next.

"Molly." Breath in, breath out. "Molly, will you...please...forgive me? For what...for what I did to...cause you any pain? I never... " Another swallow. "Never realized how much I was hurting you until you told me outright." He paused again and ran his hands through his mess of curls. "Please…I am truly…sorry?"

He frowned.

"Is that how people say it?"

Molly smiled a little, in spite of the seriousness of the moment.

"Yes, Sherlock. That's what people do these days," she replied, emphasizing _people_.

"Well…I…I never meant to…"

Sherlock stopped and composed himself.

"I am so, _so_ , sorry, Molly Hooper."

Molly could tell that these words had been mulled over, rehearsed even, for the past two weeks. And she knew, in her heart, that they were genuine. But she couldn't open her mouth just yet. It felt like there was a clamp around her mouth, preventing her from simply saying, "Yes, Sherlock. I forgive you." Her heart had been kicked around so many times that she'd placed a wall around it, and she found it slightly hard to dissolve it now, even though Sherlock had apologized right to her face.

Molly pursed her lips and looked down at her clasped hands, her eyes starting to feel a burning sensation. _Don't cry,_ her mind commanded authoritatively, as it did whenever Molly was in the presence of the consulting detective. _It makes you look weaker. Don't give in!_ Molly clenched her jaw tightly as her vision began to blur, hot and angry tears threatening to spill over.

In the end, she couldn't hold it in.

As she slowly turned her gaze upwards to Sherlock, a solitary drop of sorrow slid down her cheek.

"So...will you give me a chance?" He asked her, obviously bracing himself for a refusal.

 _I can only delay this for some time._

 _Now or never._

 _Now!_

 _NOW!_

And then Molly threw her lot in with the consulting detective.

"Yes. I forgive you, Sherlock, and I'm willing to give you a chance." She was breathing out every word in a rush. "More than willing, actually. It's been you, Sherlock, all this time, for all these years."

 _Slow DOWN, Molly!_

 _Oh, just shut up for once!_ she told the little voice in her head and continued. "I didn't know you never wanted to hurt me, Sherlock. I just thought you were being just some _mindless jerk_ , I...just didn't know you were - and still kind of _are,_ so don't contradict me - socially unaware of yourself. Your apology...It showed me that you _weren't_ that kind of person, the kind that hurts others for enjoyment. So yes. I forgive you. I've thrown in my lot with you, and I can't take it back."

Relief washed over the consulting detective's face.

And Molly knew she was about to embark on one _hell_ of a journey.

Only, she wasn't going to be doing it alone, now that she'd accepted the apology of the only consulting detective in the world.

* * *

 _A/N: Wooooo! It's done! By the way, the calculator described actually exists. I based the description off of my own calculator. If you want to look it up, it's a Texas Instruments TI-84 Plus C Silver Edition calculator. Please review! Always, Rielle_


End file.
